What I Learned From the Faeries

By Arthur Evans

In the 1970s, a spontaneous flowering of consciousness occurred independently among small clusters of gay men in several parts of the U.S. Although initially unknown to each other, these clusters shared certain sensibilities. They sought to put gay sex into larger contexts of history, spirituality, and nature. They also had a positive view of the counterculture of the 1960s. And they wanted to celebrate this consciousness ceremonially, not just intellectually. Below is an account of some things that I learned from one such endeavor.

On October 17, 1975, I invited a group of gay friends with these interests to meet at my apartment at the corner of Haight and Ashbury Streets in San Francisco (where I still live). The location was appropriate. We had all been influenced by the counterculture’s high regard for eroticism and love, expressed through new forms of music, dance, and ceremony.

At the suggestion of the late Timo Butters, we decided to call ourselves the Faery Circle. Our first ceremony could not have been simpler – we sat in a circle, held hands, and chanted.

Subsequent ceremonies were more elaborate. On one occasion, we spent Halloween night at a remote beach near San Gregorio, CA. After inching our way down a steep, rocky slope in the thick night fog, we huddled around a small fire. Our torches sparkled in the salty spray. Veils and robes floated gently in the wind.

A celebrant named Loki rose and walked around the circle, invoking the four directions as our witnesses and protectors. Another rose and called upon the Goddess, the Queen of Heaven, to descend and take possession of our bodies. Another rose and invited the Horned One to come and join the dance that was to follow. Another invited the spirits of the dead.

And then we danced, hurling ourselves around and over the fire, accompanied by the sounds of finger cymbals, tambourines, and recorders. At the conclusion of the dance, we formed a long straight line, the end of which turned in on itself, and then continued to turn, like a giant jelly roll.

We hugged and embraced and rubbed up against each other until it felt as though moon in a hilly forested area near Jenner, CA. Jonathan, one of our members, had researched the practices of Native American Indians in the Southwest, using peyote. we were all appendages of one common body. Afterwards, as the fire flickered out, we dozed off to sleep on the beach, lulled by oceanic hymns.

We judged this experiment a success. We were able to unlock the emotional and non-rational forces in our personalities, but in a contained, ritualized way that kept them from becoming destructive.

Following that model, we sat in a circle around a small earthen altar made in the shape of a crescent moon. On it sat the largest peyote button of all, the Grandmother Button, which was not eaten. The rest we consumed.

In front of our feet we had dug a concentric ditch, called the Road. We vomited into the Road if the peyote made us nauseous, a common side effect. When that happened, the Road Faery (the late Assunta Femia) covered the vomit with soil. Assunta also held a smoking cedar branch before the face of the nauseous person, for its rejuvenating fragrance. And he gave him a drink of water and vinegar, to counter the alkalinity of the peyote.

This particular ceremony was inspired by certain pre-Christian practices of ancient Europe. These have also influenced the modern religious reconstruction known as “Wicca.” But our approach in the Faery Circle was experimental, playful, and practical, not dogmatic. We weren’t committed to any doctrines or deities.

We adapted an old tradition to our particular needs, tried it out, and then assessed the results. This experiment was a success. It made us feel more connected to each other, the cosmos, and the dead, and we had fun in the process. But we learned there were other ways to accomplish that, too.

An example was another night-time ceremony, this time under a beautiful full

After we consumed the peyote, a rattle and a drum were passed in succession around the circle. When the drum came to a person, he sang the vision he was having under the influence of peyote, accompanied by the person on his left, playing the drum. The circling of the drum and rattle continued for eight hours, with only one short break in the middle of the night.

It was one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life. At first, I saw the spirits of animals and the dead racing around the outside of the circle, just behind our backs. Then I dissolved, sliding deep into the ground, encountering monsters, for what seemed like hours. Finally, I re-emerged from the ground, feeling cleansed, rejuvenated, and serene. Everything in the world seemed beautiful, balanced, and in its proper place.

Others had different experiences. One man, the late Tom Kennedy, recounted a series of hilarious stories, accompanied by amazing sound effects and whistling.

Another (the late Timo Butters, mentioned earlier) re-enacted a gripping childhood scene with his parents.

We judged this experiment a success. We were able to unlock the emotional and non-rational forces in our personalities, but in a contained, ritualized way that kept them from becoming destructive. The result was greater self-knowledge. Some of our ceremonies were done mostly for whimsy’s sake. An example was a night-time gathering by an old statue of the goddess Diana in San Francisco’s Sutro Park, near Ocean Beach. On that occasion, we dressed up as animals.

After the gathering at the statue, we crossed the main highway in order to descend to the beach. One of our members, the late Earl Galvin, led the way, dressed as a giant frog, carrying a banner of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Drivers on the highway came to a halt, flabbergasted at the sight as we crossed. We had a good laugh.

Some years later, in 1979, the late Harry Hay, who had no involvement in the Faery Circle, put out a call for a regional gathering of what he termed “Radical Faeries” in Arizona. Thanks to Harry’s efforts, faerydom became a regional and even national phenomenon. The many separate clusters that had been experimenting on their own, now had a unified context in which to develop. This was a positive breakthrough. But there was also a down side. Harry and his disciples started pushing for a unified ideology, based on Harry’s writings. People who questioned the established doctrines were ridiculed and marginalized. Harry eventually promoted himself as a cult figure, going by the title of Elder Brother. Finally, the Radical Faeries became property owners with the acquisition of land outside Wolf Creek, OR.

These developments provided faerydom with ideological coherence and institutional stability. But I myself most enjoyed the earlier, formative years. They were experimental, non-dogmatic, whimsical, and fun. They didn’t provide us with any final answers. But even so, we got a little closer to each other and the cosmos, and gained some selfknowledge along the way.

Arthur Evans is the author, most recently, of Critique of Patriarchal Reason.